


Bus Stop Serenade

by Damalia (Achrya)



Series: BusStopVerse [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Jean Thinks so Anyway, Jean is a dork, Language, M/M, Marco is Hot, Sexual Harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 19:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6671461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Damalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I was being harassed by some guys so you stepped in to pretend to my (boy)friend and help me out."</p><p>Jean didn’t exactly know how he’d gone from ‘keep walking’ to pushing past the ring of slightly panicky looking boys to grab their ‘leader’s’ wrist and force it back. He was even less certain how he ended up next to the person in the skirt, holding their hand, and smiling what he hoped was normally.</p><p>“Hi babe. Sorry I was taking so long.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bus Stop Serenade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OverMyFreckledBody](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/gifts).



> I’ve been feeling very ‘anime’ lately (yes, that’s a feeling) so feel free to imagine not-mentioned but for sure Japanese school student Jean in a school uniform. Trust me, it adds to the whole thing.
> 
> Also Jean mentions a few dumb things he’s done/said in the past. Also no one is serenaded in this. Sorry.

Jean had a strict ‘Mind your own damn business’ policy when it came to life. Not because he was a heartless asshole or anything, in fact if asked his mother and friends would have accused him of caring about other people too much, but because most of the time he ended up the bad guy when he tried to help people out. He was good at reading people and situations but if there was one thing he’d learned it was that ‘needing’ help and ‘wanting’ help were often very removed from each other.

He didn’t even make exceptions for being smoking hot.

Except when he did.

He rounded a corner, mind full of thoughts about homework, track team practice on Thursday, and the whole of 11th year stretching out before him, and then stopped in his tracks. Standing outside of the convenience store, the very one he’d been visiting every day after class for nearly 3 years, was something that may very well have been spawned from the depths of his (frequently) overactive and dirty imagination.

His eyes were drawn to their legs first; anyone who knew him would have said that was to be expected because, honestly, Jean liked legs. Well he liked a lot of things,  _ a lot _ , but a nice pair of legs was his weakness.

And these were nice. Long (the person must have been at least his height), muscular but still with curve to them, spattered with freckles where the skin was exposed. Socks, completely white save a stripe of gray where they stopped below the knee, clung to shapely calves. A gray pleated skirt hit them just below mid-thigh and let Jean’s eyes take in flex of thickly corded muscled under light brown skin as the person shifted from one foot to the other.

He imagined what he couldn’t see was also nice which meant, from his years of careful observation of people with fantastic legs, there was probably nice ass under the skirt. He couldn’t really tell, since the skirt skimmed over their hips and then flared away from their body, but his brain conjured an image of something firm and round and maybe-yes- dotted with freckles.

Something to think about later when he wasn’t standing in the middle of a public sidewalk.

He looked higher to take in unbuttoned gray blazer, boasting a patch sewn over the heart, over a white shirt that was neatly tucked into the skirt. A gray and red striped tie hung, knot loosened, from their shirt collar. He could tell, with the way the shirt was tucked in, that they had a trim waist in relation to broader shoulders.

There was something masculine, but still sort of soft, to their figure.

Wavy brown hair, that started to curl towards the end, brushed their chin and when they turned slightly he could see bangs swept to the side and pinned back with hair clips, leaving big brown eyes lined with something shimmery exposed. A round face, sporting more freckles over the cheeks and the bridge of a round nose, and full lips painted a light reddish-purple color that Jean, had no hope of identifying by name completed the picture.

It was a great picture.

Jean was almost positive that this was the sort of thing love at first sight was about.

Or maybe it was just a healthy amount of lust at first sight.

At the very least it was the revelation that he really liked freckles. A lot. And maybe boys in skirts though he didn’t want to assume because assuming was how he’d ended up pissing Armin off that one time which had lead to hiding in an empty classroom so Eren and Mikasa couldn’t kick his ass. Also how he’d gone wrong with Ymir, who prefered the boys uniform, and almost lost a tooth in middle school.

No matter what was going on it seemed he wasn’t the only one who’d taken notice. While he’d been staring, open mouthed and maybe drooling a little bit but that was his business thanks, a group of four boys had walked out of the store. They were wearing the same uniform as him, down to the double wing crest on their vests, as Jean but their green ties marked them as being in year above him. They’d noticed the person at the busstop and had moved in. One of them had gotten close, putting a hand against the light pole next to the skirted figure to lean close in what probably meant to be a smooth sort of gesture while his friends formed a semicircle around them.

Jean thought it looked pretty stupid since the boy was significantly shorter than the person in the skirt and it seemed lame to have all your friends crowding around like that, but then no one was asking his opinion. Which might have been rooted more in being annoyed at how close someone was to the person he’d been ogling than anything else. Maybe he’d wanted to talk to them.

Though he wasn’t sure what he would have said. ‘Hello, I’m Jean, you have really nice...everything?’ Because that would have done anything except make him look like some kind of creep. It was one thing to approach someone you already knew but a stranger? He had no idea how someone could just do that.

So if he was honest with himself he wouldn’t have said anything to them. Shuffled into the store and then walked away with his usual after class drink. At most he’d amuse himself with thoughts about them later, but to do what this other guy was doing? No way he could have managed it without making a fool of himself or saying something stupid.

He shook his head and, sighing quietly to himself, started walking again. He was going to get his drink, go home, and mope about how lame he was and that was that. He was not going to stare anymore. He really wasn’t.

He absolutely was.

Jean could see the exact moment things went sour. The boy from his school had edged even closer, so far in the other person’s space that even Jean felt uncomfortable, and the smile on the skirted figure’s face went from amused to strained. A head shake ruffled dark wavy hair and lips parted around words that, somehow, looked annoyed. Jean watched the boy’s face; first a touch of embarrassment and then something angry.

Jean still wasn’t close enough to hear their words but he could see the way the boy’s shoulders went stiff, the lines that appeared as his mouth pressed into a thin line, and the decidedly aggressive way he dropped his hand to grab the other’s arm. The skirted figure’s eyes darted down to the hand now around their bicep and the touch of annoyance on their face bloomed into full blown. They yanked their arm away, smile frozen into something that was really more of a grimace, and shook their head again.

Jean’s fingers twitched in irritation. He wasn’t going to get involved. He wasn’t. This wasn’t his business and it would probably just backfire in at least twenty different ways. Besides it was the middle of the fucking day and the person in the skirt looked like they could take care of themselves and he was just going to keep walking.

An uneasy ripple seemed to go through the other boys all at once as they exchanged looks among each other. Their ‘leader’ (who, now that he was closer, Jean thought he might have known.) went pink in the cheeks but, rather than backing off, seemed to just get more resolute. Inclined his head towards his friends then put his hand back on the skirted figure’s arm.

Brown eyes jumped up then scanned the group around them before returning to the boy in front of them. Their lips moved and, finally, Jean was close enough to hear.

“I’m waiting for someone so I really can’t go anywhere with you.” Their voice was low and husky; in spite of the tightly controlled anger it still sent a shiver up Jean’s spine.

The boy (Zack? Zeke?) moved his other hand and, with a smirk that turned Jean’s stomach, flipped at the hem of the other’s skirt, briefly exposing another inch of skin. “That right? I think you’d have more fun with me and my friends.”

One of the friends laughed nervously but, other than that, no one made a move to do anything.

“I doubt that.” Was the flat response.

Another smirk. “C’mon. You didn’t come outside dressed like that for no reason, did you?” His hand touched bare skin. The person in the skirt’s eyes widened then narrowed. “We won’t even have to go far.”

Jean didn’t exactly know how he’d gone from ‘keep walking’ to pushing past the ring of slightly panicky looking boys to grab their ‘leader’s’ wrist and force it away from the other person. He was even less certain how he ended up next to the person in the skirt, holding their hand, and smiling what he hoped was normally.

“Hi babe. Sorry I was taking so long.”

A slow blink then, with a look to the side. “No problem. I wasn’t waiting all that long anyway.”

“Kirschstein?” The boy (seriously, what the fuck was his name? Jean wanted to know it so he could drop it to Eren with a detailed retelling of this encounter and then watch the hell that would undoubtedly break loose.) looked almost comically befuddled. “You know this guy?”

Jean scowled. “I know you should keep your fucking hands to yourself.”

Another nervous titter from the group and a mutter of ‘Maybe we should go Sean.’ made the boy turn to glare at his friends. They all stood a little straighter and wiped the anxious expressions from their faces.

Sean?

From the...baseball team, maybe? That sounded right.

Didn’t really matter. Historia would know. She knew everyone. He’d ask her for confirmation and then tell Eren and *then* he’d probably get to watch Ymir and Eren make this guy regret all of his life choices. Not that Jean couldn’t fight, though he very strongly prefered to not let things get to such a point and had on a few occasions had to quickly dig himself out of trouble his mouth had gotten him into to avoid an ass kicking, he just didn’t see a point when there were other people who were better at it around.

He liked to think that made him pragmatic.

“Whatever.” Sean declared, glaring up at them. “I was just playing around with your freak of a boyfriend anyway. Maybe you should tell him to dress normally next time he decides to meet you somewhere, no one wants to see shit like that anyway.”

Jean opened his mouth to say something back to the tune of ‘it didn’t seem that freaky when you hitting on them’ but a squeeze to his hand diverted his attention. A warm smile and a head shake had him shutting his mouth as a warm feeling surged up inside of him.

Sean hesitated then, with a disgusted noise, turned on his heel and walked away, friends at his heels. Jean watched them until they’d crossed the street and rounded a corner.

“Thanks for that. I was afraid I was going to have to punch him, which wouldn’t be all that great an impression for my first time visiting your school.”

Another smile, this one with a hint of mischief, made his heart flutter. “No problem. And, just so you know, not everyone at our school is a jackass.”

Jean could almost picture Ymir rolling her eyes at him, the unofficial king of jackasses, saying something like that. Well, whatever, it wasn’t like this person had to know that he was sort of known for being a big mouthed jerk.

“I’m sort of used to it. I’m 5’10” and wearing a skirt; all kinds of people notice and have something to say.” They reached up and pushed an errant strand of hair behind their ear while shrugging. “Most people don’t try to help though.”

Jean wasn’t sure what to say to that. That is sucked? Which is absolutely did. That people should keep their shit to themselves, because that seemed like a given.

Besides who was he to talk considering the first time he’d seen a visibly nervous Armin in a dress he’d asked if he’d lost a bet or if that was just how he and Eren got off. In hindsight he’d sort of deserved the beating he’d narrowly avoided; Armin hadn’t cried or anything, though he’d looked near to it, but Jean had been able to tell he’d hurt the smaller boy. And yet he’d just doubled down on the asshole behavior instead of apologizing.

He supposed in a technical sense that was better than uninvited touching and being a pushy douche but he still felt awful about it.

He realized, with a start, that while thinking of how to respond he’d ended up saying nothing at all which had lead to a strange lull. He felt heat rushing up his face and looked away from questioning brown eyes.

“Yeah well. I was...happy to help.” He muttered, suddenly entranced by his shoes. This. This was why he didn’t talk to people he didn’t know. He was terrible at it. “So. Yeah.”

They laughed quietly; even the tips of Jean’s ears felt hot. “It was very nice of you.”

The hand in his own, a little bigger than his with longer fingers and much softer skin, squeezed again. His stomach flipped and

Then he realized they were still holding hands. And that his hand was sweating. A lot.

He pulled his hand back, wiping it on his pants leg, and stuttering out an apology. He was rewarded with a head tilt and a crinkling around their eyes that spoke of laughter.

“It’s fine. Maybe I liked it.” They winked. Jean was certain his head was going to burst into flame at any moment. “Oh! There’s my bus.”

Jean looked and indeed one of the city buses was headed towards them; the 56: Jinae Express. Jinae...right! The crest on their blazer, the green and white unicorn, was for Jinae High, their rival school. 

“I”m Marco, by the way.” They said, turning back to him. Marco. That was a good name. He liked it. Marco was looking at him almost expectantly and Jean froze for a moment, wondering if he’d missed something else being said and-

Oh. Damnit.

“Jean! I’m. My name. Is Jean.”

Marco looked on the verge of laughing again but, as Jean braced himself for it, they smiled softly instead. “It was nice to meet you Jean. Maybe I’ll see you next time I visit.”

Next time?

The bus was nearly to them, only a traffic light away, and Marco took a step closer to the curb in preparation. Jean felt a strange sense of urgency, like he needed to say just the right thing before the moment was over and Marco was gone. Just what the right thing was he didn’t know and, honestly, it was a wonder Marco was even speaking to him considering how badly he was messing up oh, everything.

“You’re coming back?” That was a normal question wasn’t it?

“Yeah.” Marco nodded. “I’m class representative for the 11th years and we’re working on a big overnight trip to the capital with your school and Trost High. There’s still a lot to do. And,” Another mischievous look. “I’m on the wrestling team so when the season starts I’ll be here for matches.”

Jean silently prayed that his surprise didn’t show on his face. And that his mind choosing that moment to fling itself in the gutter with thoughts of ‘Marco’ and ‘wrestling’ didn’t show either. He shifted on his feet, subtly (he hoped) moving his bag in front of his crotch.

Not the time!

“Oh. That’s cool.” The bus was coasting to a stop in front of them. “Well. It was nice to meet you too. And...it would be nice to see you again.”

Marco nodded as he took another step forward. Then, seeming to hesitate, took a step back. turned, and leaned down slightly. Lips brushed his cheek, warm and a little sticky, and ‘Thanks again’ was muttered against his skin.

The bus doors opened behind them with a whoosh. Marco straightened up and, winking again, turned to step on.

“Wait!” He shouted then, when Marco glanced back at him, wanted to sigh. Shouting was...not needed when someone was two steps away. “I...maybe I could get your number?”

The bus driver made an impatient noise and Jean wanted to throw his bag at him. Might have if it wasn’t on ‘ill timed half-chub’ hiding duty. Marco shot the man an apologetic look then nodded at Jean. He expected to have the numbers rattled off or written down quickly but instead Marco held up a finger in a sign for him to wait before stepping fully on the bus.

The doors shut and Jean’s heart sank as he watched Marco hurry back to sit in a seat. The bus moved back out into traffic but no further than that, stuck at another light. Jean actually did sigh then.

Had asking for Marco’s number been too much? Probably. Or maybe just the way he’d done it? Or maybe he was just-

Marco, who’d found a seat next to a window, slapped a piece of paper with numbers written in heavy dark ink, against the glass. Jean stared at it dumbly for a moment then, heart racing, fumbled his phone out of his pants pocket. A look up at the traffic light found it changing for red to green. The bus sputtered to life and started to slowly move as the car in front of it zoomed through the intersection.

Marco’s face melted into something anxious.

He didn’t think he’d ever tapped numbers into his phone so fast in his life. The bus was gone, had rounded a corner and driven out of sight, by the time he got it saved but the last he’d seen of Marco had been them waving at him.

He stood there for a moment, staring down at the new contact and wondering just how pathetic and desperate it would be to send a message right away. Was that how this sort of thing worked? Was he supposed to wait a certain amount of time? Was-

Fuck it. 

**'Hi'**

His phone chimed back almost instantly **. 'Hi. :)'**

He smiled the rest of the walk home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> And special love for OverMyFreckledBody who peppered me with different prompts and list when I was in need of something fun to work on.


End file.
